After this Jesus, knowing that all was now finished, said (to fulfill the scripture), "I thirst." A bowl full of vinegar stood there; so they put a sponge full of the vinegar on hyssop and held it to his mouth.
—John 19: 28-29
A common Lenten theme is the last words Christ spoke from the Cross: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” “Truly I say to you, this day you will be with Me in Paradise .” “Woman, behold your son … Son, behold your mother.” “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” Who couldn’t preach about texts that deep and rich? But there is one statement from the Cross that is a far more difficult task for the preacher. That is: “I thirst.” It is only two words. If you give each word ten minutes, you still don’t quite have a full sermon! What in the world do you say about “I thirst?”
And yet this brief text reveals to us (probably more than anything else spoken from the Cross) the depth of physical suffering that Jesus experienced there.
There was an absolute and unparalleled agony of death on a cross. It is for the most part obscured (if not missed altogether) by our shiny brass altar Crosses or the gold ones with diamonds we wear around our necks. In the days of Jesus, death on a cross was considered the cruelest form of death at all. It was an instrument of absolute torture.
Years ago I came to know a physician, a man of deep faith, who traveled to churches and civic groups making a particular presentation. He would describe the physical realities of death on a cross. He spoke of the irony that while your lungs fill with fluid, the rest of your body loses all the fluids it needs to survive. Drowning from fluid in your lungs, you are also desperate for water. Your throat is parched, your tongue is swollen, your lips are baked and broken and bleeding. It was a difficult presentation to hear, and the images were sobering. But it always reminded me that the Cross was not the pretty, shiny object into which we too often transform it. It was in a state of abject suffering that Jesus coughed out the words: “I thirst.”
The intriguing point for us personally is that those brief two words reveal the fact that Jesus identifies with us in our suffering. Anyone who experienced what He did on the Cross can certainly empathize with us in our moments of pain.
He knows what it feels like to hurt. His body ached, as ours sometimes ache. His soul wept, as ours sometimes weep. There is a New Testament verse that says Jesus “was tempted in all things, as we are.” The precise interpretation of that in the Greek is: “He has experienced all things as we do.” What a powerful and pertinent message! It assures us that when your world falls apart and your heart is breaking and you cry out in a prayer of utter desperation, there comes a Divine whisper: “I know what you’re going through. I’ve been there Myself.” Jesus identifies with us in our suffering. He understands our pains and fears and doubts.
“I thirst.” Those are beyond doubt the most thoroughly human words Jesus spoke on the Cross, and that’s an important thing for us to know. Richard Alistair said: “Only the humanity of Jesus makes Him our Messiah. Had He not suffered with us as a man, He could not deliver us from our suffering as a Savior.”
In the study of virtually any biblical text, there comes a moment sooner or later when we have to ask, “So, what does all this have to do with me?” That makes the text a bit more personal than merely literary or even theological. It’s a legitimate question. What does this statement from the Cross have to do with us?
A good starting point in answering that question is to remember that the words “I thirst”, in the context of the Cross, means being parched and desperate for water.
It’s not like painting a bedroom on a hot August Saturday and, in the middle of a sweat, finally saying: “This is going to have to wait a while. I’m taking a break. There’s some lemonade in the fridge, and I’m thirsty.”
It’s not like playing golf on warm day in July and saying to your buddies: “I can hardly wait to finish the first nine holes, go to the clubhouse, and get a drink. I’m thirsty.”
It’s not like stopping by Starbuck’s on your way to work in the morning. I do that religiously in order to get a Cinnamon Dolce Latte. It’s just fun to say. Cinnamon Dolce Latte. It’s sweet and sugary and tastes like the holidays. And now they make skinny versions with about 25% of the calories, so you can drink four of them! However, being “thirsty” for one of those is a world apart from the thirst articulated from Jesus on the Cross.
It’s not like going to a wine-tasting, having little sips of merlots and chardonnays, and swishing them around in your mouth like you’re a character on Frasier.
This word thirst is not about any of that. Instead, it is about being parched and desperate for the one thing that can give you life!
Do you remember the other time Jesus used that word? The same verb He uses here at end of His ministry is the one He used at very beginning when He said: “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for God and His righteousness…”
That’s where this word from the Cross grabs me by the shoulders and gets my attention! Am I thirsty for God and faith (like Jesus said I ought to be if I would find life), thirsty for faith as a man on a cross would be parched and desperate for water?
Or am I satisfied with just a taste of it, but no more than that? Do I swish it about a little to catch its flavor? It interests me. I enjoy coming to church (when I don’t have anything more important to do). I am intrigued by study groups. Once in a while I participate in some sort of service project because it makes me feel good to do so. I even write the church a check, once my club dues and alma mater commitments are taken of.
It’s one thing to be thirsty for faith in that sense. It is another to be thirsty as Jesus was on the Cross…parched and passionate for God and righteous living – thirsty for something that nothing else can satisfy.
That is a very different thing from being interested in or intrigued by religion. Think about two or three profound differences between being interested in religion and actually thirsting for God. For instance, there’s our tendency to compartmentalize.
A recent survey revealed that active American church-goers are three times more likely to be influenced by our political party than by our faith, which means that if there is a conflict between what the party says and what Christ says, we are three times more likely to let politics prevail. That shows a tendency to compartmentalize. Does that bother you? It should, if we “hunger and thirst for righteousness.” For those who thirst first of all for God and faith will not delegate that passion to second place on a priority list.
The same survey said that among active American church-goers, the majority say their religious beliefs do not have a determining influence in the workplace. Put another way: When it comes to business decisions and making a profit, most church-goers leave their faith at home. Compartmentalization again. For them, the business bottom line is more important than the bottom line of faithful living. Put another way, it does not reveal anything remotely similar to an insatiable thirst for that which is godly.
To “hunger and thirst for righteousness” means that wherever we go – and whatever we do – we take our faith with us. It means that in every defining moment and before every critical decision is made, we ask: “Where does my faith weigh in on this?” “What does God want of me as I stand at this crossroad?” “How am I called to behave as one of His children?”
To “hunger and thirst for righteousness” also refers to a deep longing to know God more personally. The old adage says: “There is a difference between knowing about God and knowing Him personally.” A thirst for God always takes a person beyond mere “head knowledge.”
When I was a student at Duke, there was a former Physics professor whom all of us saw almost every day. He had taught there for fifty years and then retired. After retirement, it was his routine every single afternoon, following lunch, to go to the Duke Library. He would enter the stacks, take several books to a small carrel, read and take copious notes, as he had all the years when he was teaching. Another professor one day remarked to him: “Why do you still do this when you don’t have to any longer? I can tell you that once I am retired, you won’t see me in this library!” And the aging scholar replied: “There is so much knowledge, so much to learn. Not to know is not to live.” Could we say the same about matters of faith – biblical study – spiritual growth and discernment? How thirsty are we to know about God? And beyond “knowing about” God, how thirsty are we to know Him personally (meaning that we take seriously such disciplines as prayer, daily devotions, and regular experiences of worship)?
To “hunger and thirst for righteousness” also indicates not just a desire to know God more personally but additionally a desire to serve God more passionately. I love the lyrics from the musical Godspell:
Day by day, day by day,
O dear Lord, three things I pray:
To see Thee more clearly,
Love Thee more dearly,
Follow Thee more nearly,
Day by day.
It’s not just knowing God more personally, but also serving God more passionately that earmarks one who thirsts for righteousness.
Albert Schweitzer left the fame and potential riches of Europe (where he was a successful author who wrote The Search for the Historical Jesus, an esteemed theologian, a respected surgeon, and a concert organist) to practice medicine in the jungles of Lamberene. He said once of his work in those jungles: “There are such pains, such fears, such brokenness clamoring to be made whole. In meeting human needs I thus meet Christ.” How impassioned do we become about hunger, homelessness, and global suffering? Or do we only get all worked up about little issues that Jesus wouldn’t even waste His time thinking about? Do you remember the words of Paul Tillich? “If only we cursed the evil forces that enslave and impoverish our neighbors with the same passion that we curse when we break a nail!” Are we thirsty to meet the needs of the world and thus to meet the Savior of the world?
To put God first, rather than to compartmentalize and allow Him a place in our lives, but not a transformational priority.
To experience a passion to know more and more about God and faith and, beyond that, to know God personally and intimately.
And, knowing God, to long to serve Him, to walk in sacred footsteps, to use our lives to make the world a better place.
Those passions are indicators that we have a thirst within us that only The Holy One can satisfy.
The point is clear enough. If we “hunger and thirst for righteousness,” then we are disciples … followers in sacred footsteps but only if we “hunger and thirst for righteousness.” And, for our purposes, that may well be the ultimate message of Jesus’ cry from the Cross: “I thirst.”
Let us pray:
O Savior, in Your words from the Cross we are forced to see ourselves. Your desperation for that which gives life challenges us to consider how much we desire the One who gives life that is abundant and eternal. May we thirst for God with the same passion You felt when You said from that Cross, “I thirst.” We pray in Your saving name. Amen.
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